Blood and Venom
by Chemical Ghost
Summary: AU, set between ESB and ROTJ. LukeMara, Vader. The voices tell him to do terrible things. He tries not to listen. Now complete.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: (insert pointless waste of space informing idiots that I do not own Star Wars here)

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**Prologue**

Mara Jade had been born in a hole. Born to a lifetime of slavery without even knowing it, and it had gone downhill from there. As she grew up, it grew worse, and she grew number to the pain and death she brought about out of mere servitude. At times she had even started to take pleasure in her gruesome tasks. And then, slowly; it had happened right under her nose, but simply did not exist in her memory: she had begun to live for it. She had become a hideous beast devoid of all sentiment save for bloodlust.

But nothing, good or bad, or in the undefined grey area between the two extremes, lasted forever. Everything came to an end. So it was with Mara's trance of cold ferocity. There was no precise moment of revelation recorded in her memory; somehow the shift had eluded her. One minute she had felt grim satisfaction in anticipation of the atrocities she would (un)willingly commit. The next, she had awakened to an entirely new array of feelings.

Emotions she had grown insensitive to and qualities of hers that had long since become dormant seemed to awaken and mushroom everywhere, their origin unknown. Belligerence. A thirst for independence. A longing for the one thing she could never have: true freedom. Freedom of speech, action and, most of all, thought. She had started to think for herself, bordering on treason, but she had taken care to hide it well.

And then there had been the darker things. The ones that tormented her every waking moment, sometimes even as she slept. Creeping fear and doubt. Stinging, burning self loathing. A profound weariness of life itself. And the constant bite of the shame and guilt that always seemed to sneak up on her, biting, gnawing away at her mind, worming their way into her soul. But it had been better than blindness, ignorance and willful submission.

The trigger of all this? She knew what it was. How could she not when the reminder was right there, in front of her, each and every day? But at times she wished it wasn't. She sometimes wished it did not exist because it had gone downhill from there. Mara Jade had found herself terribly conflicted, torn between two options equally tempting. And she had taken the easy road.

She had taken the easy road, and it had caught up with her. She had walked the easy path, and her life had crumbled, collapsed upon itself. But while her life had disappeared, it had not taken Mara with it. Everything had been destroyed, but Mara Jade had remained alive and (un)well. Instead of being sucked in by the undertow, she had been washed ashore, like a marine creature left to die in the sun.

It had taken a great amount of effort and all her skill to erase herself from all databanks and disappear from sight, but she had managed out of sheer will. She had started a new imitation of a life through smuggling for one Talon Karrde. A dirty, filthy job, but she was already stained with dirt and filth and blood. Still, at times the guilt resurfaced.

She learned to force the thoughts down to the bottom of her mind, to shut them in a cage where they could not bother her. Sometimes she even bamboozled herself into believing that she enjoyed this life; that this actually was a life. At other times, her conscience refused to be fooled. That was when she broke out the spice.

She would be submerged in a peaceful world of blissful, numb, ignorant ecstasy. She knew it was rotten, just like her, but it made here forget the emptiness, the aimless wandering she was doomed to. However, nothing lasted forever and, when she wasn't drugged to the eyeballs, the pain multiplied tenfold. At times she could not hide. She could not hide from life. She could not hide from the memories. She could not hide from herself.

And she could not hide from _her_. Her – Mara's five year-old daughter Aileen. Aileen _Skywalker_. Sometimes, deep down, Mara resented her. Other times she found herself succumbing to a seething hatred hidden deep within her soul, where it would linger undiscovered. Until the target shifted to Mara herself. Why?

The answer was right in front of her. Aileen was a beautiful child; one might have aptly described her as a little angel, but that could hardly be attributed to her mother's good looks. In fact, all she had inherited from her mother was the sharp, pointed chin and the ivory complexion. Her hair was an unforgettable shade of sandy blonde that still wormed its way into her dreams. And the eyes…the _eyes_. Sapphire orbs identical to the ones that she saw in her mind's eye at every waking moment. Sometimes even when she slept.

And Mara hated her. She never said it. Never showed it. She tried to love her. She tried with all her might. There were scattered, rare moments in her life when she fooled herself into believing that she felt something for that wretched child. Then, it would seem that the void in her heart was filled.

The rest of the time, the cold, slimy fingers of self-loathing and disgust clenched around her soul, bitter thoughts crawling into her mind, scraping their claws against the surface of her skull._ It's all your fault. You are cold and heartless. You are ruthless and unfeeling. You are a horrible mother. _They never left her alone. She did not live without them.

They harshly whispered what was painfully true. They never forgot it, and they were right. It was all her fault. She was a horrible excuse of a human being. She was no mother. And she was certainly not an example to follow, not a figure to idolize. No sane person, not even her daughter, the embodiment of innocence, would ever admire a drug-addicted ex-assassin smuggler.

These were the thoughts that ran through her head as she stared out the window of her dingy little flat at the gloomy landscape of the backwater world she now resided on. The city below and the hills in the distance were bleak and grey. It was raining. It always rained. Even when no drops fell from the sky.

A single wracking sob escaped her as she buried her face in her hands, limp hair, once a brilliant red-gold, now a dull, rusty colour, fell around her like a blood-soaked curtain. She could not hide. She leaned against the window sill as the tears welled in her eyes, once again staring off into the distance as they rolled down her deathly pale cheeks.

"Mommy...?" Barely a whisper, but it stood out in the somber quiet. No answer.

"Mommy." Louder this time, but still quiet. Mara turned and simply stared. The haunting blue eyes stabbed right through her.

"Why are you crying?" Genuine concern and worry thrived in those wide round eyes, and for a moment, they were almost wet with unshed tears. Then knowledge seemed to spark within them. Her unblinking gaze turned serious.

"It's about Daddy, isn't it?" Mara turned away. It was _the _question. It sprang up at unexpected times. It always went unanswered.

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Comments? Criticisms? Death threats? 


	2. Part I

**Disclaimer**: See prologue.

Thank you to those who read and/or reviewed; I appreciate it a lot.

**Kizuna: **Vader's? Don't you think Mara's a little young for him? No, she's Luke's daughter.

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**Part I**

Six years ago...

Had he been on a planet, it would have been night. However, he was not; he was, in fact, in space. The Rebel Alliance never slept – it would not have been the most practical thing to do with half the Imperial Navy on their tail, so the enlisted beings worked in shifts. Commander Luke Skywalker, also known as Rogue Leader, pathetic excuse of a Jedi stifled s yawn as he made his way to his quarters. He had just returned from a dull, monotonous escort mission – it was amazing how such an easy task could exhaust just about anyone. Then again, doing anything for ten hours straight had that sort of effect.

He blinked, torn from his musings as he was crashed into by a grey blur topped with a fiery ball of red hair, finding himself sprawled on the floor. Dazed, he scrambled to his feet, then offered his hand to the woman still collapsed on the deck. Grudgingly, she took it, favoring him with a dirty look, as if he had been the one to run her over.

"You alright?" He asked. The redhead arched an eyebrow, frowning.

"Yeah. Fine," Her reply was a tone of flat sarcasm. "Next time, you watch where you're going."

"Right," he muttered as she haughtily strode off. Never mind the fact that _she _had bumped into _him _and, at least according to her lack of insignia, he outranked her. Under normal circumstances, he would have smirked at the thought of pulling rank on someone – more often than not, he still felt like an idiot farmboy with the sand of Tatooine still caked on his boots. However, he rarely laughed anymore. The past few months had erased that part of him.

Mara scowled as she walked away, or rather appearedto walk away - as soon as she turned a corner, she stopped. _Great. One of those condescending, oh-so-gentlemanly types. _She knew it was silly of her to be picky about her victims – they _were _victims; there was no use trying to cover it with frills – but some subjects she found absolutely repulsive. Such was the case of that Skywalker. Mara was quite adept at reading personalities, and he seemed to be one of those pseudo-sweet types who could stab you in the back when you least expect it. Or at least that was what she had deduced from what she had read in his file.

She had done her homework, that was certain, and the crimes listed were enough to make her flinch. That was saying something, because there were very few things that could trigger such a reaction from Mara. She knew she would have to be very careful when dealing with the subject – he was a tough one; very resourceful at that. So she would make it quick and efficient and await further orders.

Mara had been sent by his Highness to pose as Rebel scum and kill Skywalker. That was what she _assumed_ she was to do. She had not received precise orders to assassinate him, but had merely been instructed to release a specific creature, one of Palpatine's own ghastly creations – Oh yes, she was aware of the Emperor's dark agenda – into the Jedi's quarters. She fingered the vial in her breast pocket. Inside was a spindly armored arachnid that cast off an odd violet-gray glow. Just keeping it close to her body sent shivers down her spine.

Mara glanced around the corner. The coast was clear; it was now safe for her to follow him. Relatively. Even if he did spot her, it was not very likely that he would recognize her as a threat. And that would be his downfall. He would probably not become aware of the fact until the very last moment…Mara almost felt for him. _Almost_. Not enough to keep her from her duty.

Minutes – _hours?_ – passed as Mara waited for him to fall asleep, her patience slowly waning. Although her Force skills were feeble – Palpatine claimed it – she could still sense whether he was conscious. _Finally…You'd think he's insomniac. _For all she knew, it was more than likely that he was. Who could blame him? What sane being would not have sleepless nights with the slaughter of countless others weighing down on them? She knew the feeling well.

Quickly, silently and effectively hotwiring the lock, Mara slipped into the room without a single noise – stealth learned through many hours of training.The room was dark and dingy, with bare, cracked walls and a rusted metal floor. Not surprising; the Rebel ship was an older model – perhaps from a time before the rise of the Empire. But it did not look like it had been lived in. it did not feel like it had been lived in.

She would have dismissed it as unused if it weren't for the young man sprawled on the cot…her target. He was shirtless but still had his fatigues on, boots and socks thrown on the floor. His hair clung to his face in damp strands. He slept fitfully, eyes moving beneath their lids.

He looked a lot younger in his sleep, possibly younger than her. He seemed boyishly innocent. Mara had read in his file that he was twenty-one, the same age as her. Mara knew that he was no longer a boy and was far from innocent. One thing she had to admit was that he was quite attractive. _More like downright gorgeous…_

Mara shook herself awake. Where had that come from? It did not matter. He was a mass murderer and she had been sent there to destroy him. _You hypocrite. Not that much of an angel yourself, are you, Jade? _She sighed, trying to pay no heed to the nasty whisper of a thought at the back of her mind. Jade gingerly withdrew the vial from her pocket. She felt a sudden, strong urge to let go of it as the thing inside wriggled.

Why was she being so squeamish? Usually she was not at all bothered by insects. Something about this one felt sinister. _It's your imagination. Get it over with. _Mara crept closer to Skywalker and delicately uncapped the vial. The creature skittered out, onto his sheets. It was only a matter of time before it would bite. It felt wrong. She did not care. _Time to die, Jedi._

It crawled onto his neck. Then it disappeared somewhere under the cot. Blood trickled from the puncture wound where tiny fangs had sunk deep into the flesh. She threw one last glance at her doomed victim and turned to leave, but something froze her to the floor. She failed to tear her eyes away from his sleeping form. All she wanted was to drink in the sight; never leave his side…_Wake up. _She did not know whom the frantic mental words were directed at. Her gaze was fixed on the (dead) man before her.

His handsome features would haunt her long after his death. Why did it matter? He was just another name to add to her expanding list. Just another face to stare back at her in her in her dreams. Just another voice to accuse her in her sleep. Just another soul to disturb her conscience…_Forget him. He is nothing to you. _Mara did not care. He was a bloodthirsty killer. _Just like you._

Why were her hands trembling? Why did she feel so cold and dead inside? Why did her throat tighten? Why was looking at him suddenly unbearable? Yet she still stared…Unconsciously she had edged closer. _Are you mad? That thing is still under there! _She ignored her own mental warning. Irrational yet overwhelming desire crept into her mind. And she gave in. She bent down, kissing him on the lips.

Flustered, she withdrew and backed away. What had possessed her to kiss the dirty little frack's corpse? _Stupid. _Squeezing her eyes shut, Mara turned and disappeared from sight. Orders were orders. She had the rest of the mission, whatever it was, to carry out. She did not care.

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Comments? Criticism? Death threats? 


	3. Part II

**Disclaimer: **Star Wars does not belong to me.Too bad

Thanks to all who reviewed; I greatly appreciate it (Too sleepy to reply personally...). Thanks even more for being patient with me. Real life leaves practically no time for fanfic. Hopefully this part is worth the wait.

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**Part II**

Luke Skywalker awoke from his disturbed, restless sleep with a burst of adrenaline. Yet another nightmare. They were all so vivid…often he failed to tell them apart from reality. Perhaps reality was just a dream…a nightmare. Steadying his quickened breathing, he sat up and rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. It wouldn't go away. A light mist hung over his vision, as if he were peering through a sheer veil. He felt faint, but he dismissed it as an effect of sleep deprivation – on a good day, he could squeeze in five hours.

He moved to pull on the worn, scuffed boots that lay strewn across the floor of the bare, cold room. Not that the cold bothered him anymore. It had been three years since he had lived on Tatooine. He almost let out a bitter laugh. It was hard to believe that three years ago, he had had nothing to worry about aside from chores and how to persuade his aunt and uncle to let him go to the academy. In hindsight, he was glad they had kept him on that sandpile, otherwise he would have joined the Empire.

Somehow his thoughts always boiled down to the same thing. _Empire. War. Death. Darkness. Father. _He grew weary of it all. He was tired of running, hiding and fighting. He was tired of killing and watching everyone die. He was tired of the dark that never left him, that lurked at the back of his mind, beckoning. Tired and afraid. Afraid that he might one day wake up and no longer know himself, that he may one day no longer care enough to maintain his resistance. The disturbing thought of betraying himself and giving in was ever-present.

A dull purple gleam in the corner across from him caught his eye. Perhaps his eyes were beginning to play tricks on him. Scratching at an irritatingly itchy bite on his neck – Force, the place was filled with vermin – he stood and approached. It would not hurt to take a look.

An oddity of a creature – like an armored spider – scuttled out from its hiding place. Its less than attractive appearance – and presence, for that matter – made him hope it wasn't the thing that had bitten him. Then again, he seemed to suffer no ill effects. Squatting next to it, he gingerly touched it. It did not seem to be intimidated, choosing instead to crawl across his left wrist onto his forearm. If you looked closer, it had a unique kind of beauty…

While he had been busy admiring it, it had positioned itself over a vein. Before he made the connection, it sunk its sharp, vicious little fangs in, attempting to suck his blood. He shook it off onto the floor. _Crunch. _That was the sound its carapace made as, under the impact of his booted foot, it was reduced to shiny fragments of exoskeleton and wet, black pulp tinged with red – blood. He squished it to an even finer pulp, until it was just a dark stain on the floor. _Disgusting piece of filth._

What had that been all about? Honestly, they had to do something about the things that lived aboard the ship. Still, why had he felt such a sick pleasure from killing the thing, whatever it was? It was a living being, not so different from him. _Yeah…Well you don't try to sink your teeth into other people's flesh._

He walked into the small, dirty 'fresher with cracked tile walls that had once been white but were now a muddy grey and stepped into the shower. He would never get used to real water showers, especially ice-cold ones... Suppressing a shiver, he stepped out, throwing on a towel. Looking into the grime-covered mirror, slightly chipped and cracked at the edges – practically everything was in that state – he could barely recognize himself.

He did not look much different than he had a few months ago, a time that now seemed all too distant, his features perhaps a little sharper, his appearance perhaps tougher, harder. It was inside that he was changed beyond recognition. It felt like death, to find himself a different person, one he did not care for. One he only held in contempt, reduced to a shell of his former self. He sorely wished he could simply turn away and return to believing in everything and knowing nothing at all. He wished he did not have to stare at this lie of an image before him. In some ways, it would have been better if he had been gruesomely scarred. At least his appearance would have been a reflection of himself.

He allowed his face to fall and his shoulders to slump in defeat. Why did he feel so dead? If only he could blame something, someone…but sometimes it was no one's fault. As if to counter his thought, the darkness deep within his mind, at once right beside him and distant as the stars, stirred.

_I blame you. You turned me into this. You ruined my life. You brought me into this hell. I wish you would just die. I wish I could strangle you with my bare hands. I want to kill you. I swear it, I will. I hate you. _And, to his dismay, the darkness answered. _You and I are one and the same. Do not deny what you know is true._

He, in turn, had nothing to say. Enraged, he brought down his shields, forcing it out his thoughts. _Him. If he's an it, then what are you? _-- _Shut up. _This was what went on every single day of his now dismal life, ever since Vader had told him. _Damn it, Obi-Wan, why did you lie? Did you think me too weak to face reality? Did you want me to slay him without ever knowing? _Kenobi was fortunate he was already dead. Normally, he would have kicked himself for such thoughts, but he found that he lacked the will to care. Once more, he threw a glance at the mirror. _Under that mask, do you have blue eyes as well? _Despite everything, he still managed to wonder. He still managed to dream. He was tired of it all.

After pulling on some fresh clothes, he dragged himself out of his room. It was 0515 and he had yet another long, dull, tiring mission to fly.

The mission was tedious and dragged out, as he had foreseen, until they encountered a squadron of TIEs. Nothing unusual; dogfights had long since become routine. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fighter with the bent, jagged solar panels. A TIE advanced. Luke did not need the Force to know what it meant.

His heart pounded, and the flame inside blossomed into a firestorm, and before he knew it, he was firing away with every ounce of speed he had, with every spark of rage in him, downing two of the Sith's wingmen. He could hear their death cries in the Force, one a wordless, despairing scream, the other a sorrowful goodbye. And he found himself relishing it, sadistically basking in their pain, as if their agony drained his own.

While most of the fighters launched themselves at his own squadron, the leader, pulling an elaborate maneuver, or rather a dirty trick, peppered him with a spray of shots. _Kreth, he's good_. And Vader did not seem at all threatened. He was enraged to find that the Dark Lord radiated cold satisfaction. _Want to kill me?_ _Not gonna happen, Vader. I'm not dying for you. _But the vindictive little thought managed to sneak in yet again. _But would you turn for him? _Never. Never would that happen.

The fight ended with him crippling Vader's fighter. He and the two remaining wingmen then proceeded to retreat, but not before the Sith could send a message. _This is not over. We shall meet again. _Unfortunately, they would.

Mara Jade stood in the hangar bay as Rogue Squadron returned, one fighter short. Skywalker, of course. He was surely dead by now, thanks to her. Oddly, she was not in the least proud. Never before had she had a conscience. Never before had she been ashamed. But the feeling was drowned out by shock as she recognized the man who climbed out of one of the X-wings. It couldn't be…it was. _Skywalker. Why are you still alive? Why are you still here? _What was he doing here? Mara had killed him.

She had not realized that she'd been standing there dumbly, staring at nothing, until she was shaken from her trance by Skywalker's irritatingly smooth voice.

"Are you alright? Can I help you?" Mara was tempted to say "no" or formulate a sarcastic retort, but, to her dismay, something altogether different slipped out of her mouth.

"Skywalker – You're alive…" Skywalker raised an eyebrow.

"So I am. Surprised?"

"What-er…no…I…never mind."

It was unlike her to be so inarticulate, but this time he had caught her off guard. That had been a close one – fortunately, he suspected nothing. But what would she do now? Why wasn't he dead? Was this part of the plan her master had spoken of?

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Ego strokes? Hate mail? Rotten tomatoes? Death threats? 


	4. Part III

**Disclaimer: **I don't need one, do I? Someone as talentless as me could never create a masterpiece like Star Wars.

Stupid life, keeping me from my fanfic...Nope, I'm not dead and neither is this fic, but I've literally never seen so much work in my entire life. However, one way or another I _will_ finish this. Thank you to those who reviewed; hopefully you haven't given up on me.

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**Part III **

Leia was due back from a negotiation on some far-off world any moment now. Luke sped up his pace – he wanted to be there to greet her when she arrived. He had missed her. He always did…He loved her too much. Their relationship was not a romantic one – it never would be. It was odd, but it felt like she was not the one for him. And her heart belonged to Han. Luke had long since accepted that. But he loved her all the same. It was not a good thing, in times like these - times of war - for any of them could die at any moment. Fortunately, she was still alive and relatively well.

Leia stepped out of the shuttle, looking exhausted, and strange as it seemed his enthusiasm vanished in the blink of an eye and he did not want to see her – not at all. Hell, all he wanted was to be alone. Still, outwardly he smiled.

"Leia…It's nice to see you again. " _I wish it was. _Leia's pale, wan, washed-out face seemed to brighten and she once again appeared lively as she'd been before…before everything. She threw herself onto him, clinging almost desperately, and all he felt was…awkwardness. As if he did not belong there. Something felt wrong, and inside him was that sinking feeling, weighing down on him like lead in his heart. He felt trapped, like wild animal pacing neurotically in a cramped cage. And he felt undeserving of her love and friendship.

Still, he did not have the heart to break loose of her grasp – she seemed so desperate, hanging on as if her life was at stake. She looked so delicate, so frail, so vulnerable…Oh, how easy it would have been to draw a blaster or blade and end that fragile life of hers. _What would it feel like to feel her hot blood trickling through his fingers, to hear her cry out in agony and death, to feel her last breath escape her…_

His stomach did a backflip as he caught himself thinking…that. Fear and shock raced through his veins. _What? _Why was he thinking these things? The thoughts were almost, well…evil. And he could feel them again, rushing toward him like a massive wave.

_Kill her. Shoot her…Stab her…Feel her blood flowing out…Feel her life drain…_

…_No! Shut up…shut up!..._

…_kill her…_

…_No…go away…_

…_blood…_

…_SHUT UP!_

He broke away, lest he give in and listen. Leia blinked, confused at the suddenness of it.

"Is something wrong?" Concern made its presence known through a gleam in her eyes, and he felt all the guiltier.

"No. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine, really." She did not look too convinced, but she let him go. _Oh so protective. It's too bad your concern is misplaced. If only I weren't to be the death of you…No, don't think it. I won't. I won't let myself._

"Tell you what – I'll go change into some fresh clothes and then I'll join for some caf. I'll see you in fifteen minutes, then?" _No. Get away from me. I'm too dangerous, don't you see it?_

"No." Her eyes narrowed.

"Why, are you busy?" Luke's mind raced. _Think…Think fast – think of something, anything!_

"Well, no…Look, I'd like some time to myself – I need to be alone for some time." He knew it was unlike him to be antisocial but it was the best he could come up with without giving himself away. And yet again, she worried about him, tearing right through his heart. _I wish she would hate me…As I hate her…No! I don't hate her; I love her…Do I?_

"Are you sure you're alright?" _No. I'm not. Please help me…_He wanted to pour out his soul, but he knew he should not. The effect would be damaging for both of them. Nevertheless, it was so hard to keep it all in.

"Yes, positive!" he snapped. Did she always have to be so damn observant? Leia's eyebrow twitched.

"Are you absolutely sure?" This was getting redundant…How in space would he get her off his back?

"For the last time, yes! I wish you'd leave me alone! Just go away…Get out of my sight, will you?" he had not meant to say it – really, he hadn't – the words had leapt out on their own accord. It wasn't his fault… …It was.

Leia's eyes were bright, too bright, and the tears spilled down her pallid cheeks. Force, it hurt to see those tears fall.

"How-How could you b-be so…so cold? It's like…I –I don't knowyou anymore!" _I didn't mean it. I swear I didn't mean it…I'm sorry – I can't help it…_Leia heard none of it. She turned and stormed away.

_Leia wait! _That was what he meant to say, but his speech came out garbled.

"I hate you!" That was what forced its way out instead. _Too late. She's gone. Driven away by you. _Why was he acting this way? What in hell was going on with him? Whatever it was that possessed him, it was making him angry.

Lord Sidious smiled in satisfaction. All was going as planned. In a matter of weeks, Skywalker would be his devoted servant. Forever.

It was deeply unsettling. Never would he have conceived the possibility, but it was greatly disturbing. Darth Vader had sensed it in the earliest hours of the morning – the Sith Lord's body required little sleep and it was more of a chore than anything else, so it's was not uncommon for him to stay awake for extended periods of time.

At first, Vader had not recognized it – it had seemed vaguely familiar, but that had been it. It was darkness flowing in waves, in sudden, intense flares. Darkness alone, even of such a peculiar kind, would not have shaken Vader. He was not afraid of the dark.

However, it was the source that threw him off balance. It was radiating from his son. He should have been content – his goal was more than halfway reached, was it not? No, he decided. Far from it. It was not supposed to happen this way. He found himself horrified at the transformation that was occurring before his very eyes. Maybe he had never wanted it and it had been yet another delusion of his, nothing more. Perhaps he had only been fooling himself, masking his true desires by insisting that all he wanted was what his master wanted. And though he might have denied it, the two were by far not the same.

No living being knew this, of course. In everyone's mind's eye, he was nothing more than an extension of the Emperor's reach – Palpatine's deadly weapon. But he was more than that. People had forgotten that beneath the black metal plating and wires, he was a living, sentient being. He could feel pain, regret, despair, sadness and even love. Nobody knew it, but as much as he projected a contrary image, Darth Vader was just as human as anyone.

He was human, but he was a slave. In a time when he had been someone else, he had broken free of bondage. Having been without control all his life, his former self had embarked in a constant quest for power. He had found it, eventually – someone had showed him the way; opened the door. Little had he known that he had been taken advantage of. Though he had thought the door would lead outside, he found himself locked in a cell. He had thought to have found freedom at last. Instead, he had been enslaved once more.

He had never broken the chains he had forged on that fateful day. He did his master's bidding, though it was a low to his pride each time he obeyed an order. Every time was a reminder of his failures, his shortcomings. Inside, far out of sight, the hatred brewed, seething, frothing, waiting to escape. That state of his – It was the Sidious' doing. Almost everything was Sidious' doing. Vader had no doubt that he was the one responsible this time as well – He could feel the satisfaction, the complacency that oozed from the Sith Lord's mind. Rarely did his master's shields loosen in such a manner.

It was a lightsaber to the gut to know that Sidious had done this – was doing at that very moment, perhaps. Vader hated it. Hated him. He would not stand by and watch. No, he would certainly not. Lord Sidious would pay dearly. Vader would do what he should have done over twenty years ago, and Sidious would meet his death.

Mara Jade hid around a corner in a fork of the hallway. Skywalker was nearby, coming her way. The Emperor had filled her in on why he was not dead – partially, at least. If there was one thing she was bitter about, it was the absolute lack of trust and respect. He always made sure Mara knew the least amount of information possible without compromising her performance. Deep down, she knew she was but a tool of his. One day, she will have worn out her usefulness, and she dreaded that day.

Sometimes Mara wondered why she even bothered. She was just another disposable servant of his – why didn't she just run away? Maybe she ought to. _Nonsense. You know he'd kill you before you could blink._ She was astonished Palpatine hadn't already gotten rid of her with all those traitorous thoughts of hers. Still, though she hated to admit it, the rebels were a lot nicer than she was used to. In fact, she wasn't so sure about the goodness of the Empire anymore. Some things she'd heard of and often witnessed seemed just plain evil, for lack of a better word. That was truly saying something. Mara was far from the most moral person she knew.

Indeed she was not, and she had a mission to complete, but for that she would have to get closer to Skywalker. Though it should not have sounded remotely appealing, for some odd reason she didn't mind. Though she would have normally rebuked herself for it, Mara was infinitely glad she did not have to ah…terminate him. Frankly, she did not think she would have been up to doing it – again. Last time, although she had not _really _the man, she had inexplicably regretted it. _Yeah? Well it's not like you'll be doing the guy a favor by luring him to the Emperor. He's better off dead. _

Skywalker passed her and she stepped out into the hallway, following him. She stopped for a few seconds and, with a small twitch of her wrist, she summoned his comlink. She was somehow amazed he hadn't felt it, but she was lucky he hadn't. For someone who was supposed to be so powerful, he had to be pretty absent-minded. That or she was getting good.

"Skywalker – You dropped your comlink!" Skywalker turned around and strode toward her. He blushed at the sight of her. Honestly, hadn't he talked to women before? Or maybe all men were this way…

"Thanks, er…"

"Jade." Mara said, smirking. Sometimes she loved the versatility of her name. You could never tell if it was her first or last name. He smirked back.

"Do you have a last name, or should I have a grand old time searching the database?" So he _was _capable of sarcasm. Mara grinned.

"Search the database. Actually, I'm surprised you don't already know my name. I'm replacing the dead guy on your squadron." She saw his face tighten, his eyes harden. Perhaps it had been a little tactless of her…

"You're a pilot?" He asked, quite stupidly, actually.

"Obviously. If I wasn't, would they be crazy enough to place me in any squadron, let alone yours?"

"You never know, " He said. " I'll see you shortly then – see if you're any good, too."

"You'd be surprised, Skywalker. You'd be surprised."

* * *

Like it? Hate it? Hate me for leaving you hanging for so long?

Don't worry, I swear I'll write faster this time.


	5. Part IV

Disclaimer: Me no own Star wars,

Hello everyone...I'm back, with two weeks of free time. Thanks a million to my readers/reviewers. Here's your present. Happy holidays, everyone.

* * *

**Part IV**

A fierce battle raged over the water world of Mon Calamari. Planetside, you could distinguish the sinister forms of half a dozen Star Destroyers. Three victory-class, two imperial and one massive SSD. _Executor_, Darth Vader's flagship, Skywalker knew without a doubt. It was both woeful and hilarious how he and Vader often found themselves in the same time and space. _The Force must really hate me. _

Yes, it must have hated him, because each time he met Vader, he despised his father more than ever – his hatred seemed to grow exponentially – yet with every confrontation it was harder and harder to bring himself to kill him – or attempt to anyway. _So much for doing and not trying…_Yet another thing to add to the endless list of failures. He literally dreamt of killing the bastard…but even then, he never felt satisfied after putting his 'saber blade through Vader's black heart. Instead he felt a cold regret, an emptiness filling him, threatening to take over.

Not that he wasn't empty. He felt it in his every waking moment. No feelings. Nada. Zero. Zilch. Blank. Numb. Numb was good. That meant no pain. He lived mechanically, doing his duty and nothing else. He lived like a machine. _Machine…Looks like you're following in his footsteps…_

…_No! I hate him…I HATE him. I will never be him…_

…_Denial?_

No, it wasn't denial; it was true. He did abhor Vader. He did want him to die. He just was unable to make it happen. Not for lack of will, really…Whether he liked it or not, it was becoming progressively harder to fight him. For the first time ever, he doubted that he would have the strength (weakness?) to fire on him, let alone draw a lightsaber. Then again, he had not been feeling very sane lately.

He dreaded meeting his father (_Don't deny it, now_) in battle, but he also had a responsibility, a duty – to the Alliance, to his friends, to Rogue Squadron…to Jade…Jade. She, with her beauty, her intelligence, her no-nonsense attitude, her sarcasm and dry wit, had begun to grow on him in the weeks since they'd met, and he found himself torn between his dark father and this woman – she was a woman as well as a fellow pilot, whether he chose to admit or not. Every time he went into battle, he prayed that Vader was lightyears away so that he would not be forced to choose.

The inevitable could only be delayed for so long, he knew, and it could be no longer. And, as the dogfight continued, he swore to himself that he would protect her. It was selfish, he knew, but he hated losing wingmen, and she was rapidly becoming more than that. Though he was a Jedi – more or less – he was also human. Such was human nature, and he could not help but submit.

Thankfully, Vader was nowhere near her at the moment – on _Executor_, he sensed. He pictured Executor exploding in a cloud of flames, imagined his Force signature winking out into the darkness of space – if only that were a reality…_Concentrate, stupid…focus, don't think…no time...fire…_He didn't have to think out his actions – the fighter was an extension of his body, but his mind seemed to separate from that body. Once again, his shot hit its target, the TIE now a shower of sparks around a ball of fire. Inside, someone died.

And so the battle went on. With each well-placed shot, a presence was snuffed out. It was draining, as usual – it always felt this way; he should have gotten used to it but never had. Except something within him laughed hatefully, reveling in it, screaming the word _die _each time he fired. It frightened him. It _was_ him.

He forced himself to return focus to the fighting, giving his all to win, to wade through the sea of fighters and their fire…_to kill as many as possible? _No, not to kill; that was not the Jedi way…_Some Jedi you are. _In the midst of all this, he'd forgotten about protecting…_Jade! _Where was she? Rapidly scanning with the Force his surroundings, he found her spiraling down – though there really was no down – towards the huge azure sphere below. Rogue Squadron needed him badly – he was the one that had made them (in)famous, but at the moment, he felt that Jade needed him more. They wouldn't die – would they? He knew she would. _I must save her…even if it means abandoning them…_Sighing, he spoke into the comm.

"Wedge, you're gonna have to take over for this one – my fuel cells are fried; I don't think I can last very long…" It was a lie – they were fine, but he had to get down there without getting court-martialed for desertion – he'd gotten away with it once, but he did not think that even his reputation would save him a second time. _Don't you hate lies? _

Down there, it would have been peaceful, the waters calm, had he not been frantically searching for her downed X-wing. He scanned the sparkling waters, finding nothing…_wait…_There it was, a smoking mass of metal near a coral reef, sinking…Was she in it? No; the Force told him otherwise. _Then she's in the water! _

"Artoo, I'd like you to fly this thing for now." Artoo beeped a somewhat alarmed question.

"I have to do this. Trust me."

Instructing the little droid to fly low and very slowly and giving the directions, he undid his crash restraints. Stripping off his flightsuit in record time, he dove headfirst into the lagoon. He was submerged in a tranquil, noiseless world, but the calm was disturbed by the urgent pounding in his brain…fear.

And there she was, her limp form falling further into the dark, murky depths, the last rays of the sun falling and reflecting off the copper strands swimming around her pale face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Propelling himself toward her, he scooped her up and soared towards the surface. They broke the water. Nothing had ever tasted sweeter than that first breath he took.

There he was, sitting in an X-wing, soaked to the bone, having abandoned his squadron for the life of a virtual stranger, with said unconscious stranger sprawled on his lap. He could not help noticing what a beautiful stranger she was. Giving in to the urge to kiss her, he settled in to fly again – he still had a duty to fulfill.

The situation had deteriorated drastically. He had returned into the middle of an outright massacre. The rebels had taken quite a blow and were retreating; he'd lost another man. Wes Janson. Dead. Relatively speaking, the loss was a small one; this was a war. That did not change the fact that he was gone, forever, and that there would never be another like him. His throat tightened. _Jedi don't cry._ The tears would not escape; he wouldn't let them. _My fault. All my fault. Traitor._ _Liar. Selfish. Dark. _

Mara Jade awoke in an unfamiliar room. White/ Clean. Smelled of disinfectant. She made a face. Sickbay. That was just great. But…how? How had she gotten there? Last time she'd checked, she had been shot down by an imperial fighter – oh, the irony – and had been struggling to get out of the X-wing. She had managed to free herself, but had not had the strength to swim to the surface…then? What had happened after that? She did not remember a thing after that…no, she did, a little bit – strong arms enveloping her, someone dragging her back to the surface…

Who could have saved her? A native? Where was she, anyway? This was starting to get _very_ confusing. Just when she was about to go insane from ignorance and helplessness, the door hissed open and the last person Mara had expected walked into the room. She was still with the rebels, then. More questions floated to the surface of her mind. What of the battle? Who had come to save her? Unless…_no_.

"Jade, you're awake. You had us worried for a while." He said that with a grin, but there was that dead look in his eyes. It had been there since the first time she had seen him. It never left. Today, however, it had worsened. Why could she not see him like this? With each passing day, he sunk deeper down, and Mara could not stand it. But that was not the only thing that unsettled her. Skywalker also grew more unstable, as if there was a war within him. For all she knew, there was. _Sidious' fault. My fault._

'Yeah...Sorry about that," She said, smirking. Then she took the opportunity to rid herself of some of the questions.

"So how did the battle go?" _Why do I care? I'm fighting against them, aren't I? I only care about my master…But do I? I hate him. I'm his slave. Why do I serve him? _Because she would die if she decided to resist, Mara decided. But could the Emperor kill her at such a great distance?

Skywalker frowned. His face looked paler, even wearier than as usual. He looked like he was about to break. Something scratched at her heart. It would not go away.

"It was awful. We lost a significant amount of our fleet and were forced to retreat. We also lost a squadron member." Mara's heart sank. She bit her lip. Reluctant as she was to admit it, she was growing attached to her fellow pilots.

"Who?"

"Wes." No emotion in his reply. Just painful emptiness.

"Pity. He was a nice guy. I'll miss him." She was not lying, for a change. Skywalker – Luke – whatever she was calling him these days, nodded somberly.

"Things like these happen in war." But the deaths were no less painful, she knew. A hush fell over the two of them. After five minutes of complete silence, Mara spoke up.

"So how did I get here? Don't tell me you actually went down there to keep me from drowning!" His face fell.

"As a matter of fact, yes. You would have died." Mara felt her eyes dilate. Why, that idiot! What was he thinking?

"You idiot! What were you thinking?" Skywalker remained unmoved.

"I do not regret it." Her anger spiked. The guy did not have his priorities right! He had a squadron to take care of! He was an officer, damn it! And she was not worthy. He should have left her. _I'm killing him, and he saved me. _This was unjust. So unfair – but she had never been one for fairness, had she?

"Well you _should _be regretting it! What were you thinking, risking the lives of others for my sake? You can't do that, Skywalker. That was desertion, what you did."

She had not realized that she was standing, pressing Skywalker against the wall.

"I know that, Jade," He said stiffly. "I know that. I couldn't let you die." _No excuse, flyboy. Force, I really want to kill you._ She settled for slapping him, hard. He did not respond – just looked confused…and hurt. He roughly broke free and started to turn and leave, eyes down, radiating sorrow, shame and despair, but Mara blocked the door.

"That was for being a reckless fool." She then roughly drew him close and forcefully, passionately kissed him. He blinked, eyes wide, then kissed back.

"That was for being there for me," She whispered.

* * *

Don't forget to review ;P


	6. Part V

**Disclaimer**: Do I really need one of these? If you really need one, see first post or something.

* * *

Well, here's another post, just before my midterms start.

* * *

**Part V**

Half awake, Leia rolled off her cot. Some days, she just did not want to budge from her bed – just sleep the hours away. Sleep was now the best part of the day. The only part when she did not feel like she was coming undone. Her life was falling apart. She hadn't thought it could get worse after she'd lost Han – she no longer avoided thinking about it. Whether she locked it away in her mind or not, it felt the same. Not only had she lost the love of her life, she was forced to watch the Alliance – all that she lived for - be reduced to practically nothing. They were losing bases at an alarming speed, and they were left with a meager excuse for a fleet. They could destroy their fleet, but not their spirit, Leia knew.

She would survive, even if all was lost. Even if there were but a handful of them left, they would stand strong. What ripped her apart was watching her best friend break. He said nothing. He tried to be as cold and aloof as he could; he even tried to be hostile and spiteful. He tried to drive her away, perhaps so that she would not care when he would be lost to death or madness. _You do not fool me, my naïve friend. I see right through you. I see the despair in your eyes. I know you are hurting…I know you don't sleep anymore. I know you cry when you are alone. I feel the anguish, and witness the war inside you. _If only he would drop the façade. Then, they would have each other… _But we do. I'm here, whether you know it or not._

…_But you are not. I don't think I can hold on much longer…_

* * *

Luke blinked, eradicating the last remnants of sleep. The ceiling above was not his. It was not as cracked, not quite as filthy and had a different kind of fungus growing on it. Now how had he gotten here…_Oh Crap. _Now he remembered. What had he been thinking? The last thing he needed was to drag people down with him. Damn…What was he to do now. Next to him, Jade – beautiful, charming Jade – moaned and absently threw her arm over his bare chest. Gently, he removed it and sat up.

"Mmmff…Where you goin', flyboy...?"

"Sorry, I have to go, Jade. I'll be back." He bent down and kissed her, and promptly took his leave. As much as he would have loved to stay, he had to see Leia. Though she was far too attached to him for her own good, Luke just could not leave her that way. He could not let himself be this cold.

* * *

He knocked on her door, but Leia would not answer. She probably wanted nothing to do with him. When she finally did open the door, he fully expected her to rage at him, maybe even beat him half to death with a hairbrush, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight inside.

Her modest quarters were a disaster area, her things spread all over the place, the shards of a dirty mirror and empty bottles of Corellian ale strewn all across the floor. In the middle of it was a completely inebriated, unresponsive Leia. _Oh Force, what have I done…_

…_Your fault…_

…_Failure…_

…_Worthless…_

…_Maybe you should just kill her…_

…_Put her out of her misery…_

_Shut up!_

_Give in…All it takes is one shot of a blaster…_

_Won't do it…_

…_Do it! It will bring you all that you want… It's the only way…She is worthless rebel scum anyway…_

_You're WRONG!_

Yes, the voice was wrong. He would never listen. Next time it would try something, he would laugh in its face. Maybe it would go away. _No maybe. It will go away. Just need to wait long enough. Patience, stupid, reckless one. _With a heavy sigh, he bent down to pick her up.

"I'm so sorry, Leia. Please forgive me. I…I didn't know what I was doing. I just wanted to protect you. I know you probably hate me now, " He choked out, his voice starting to break.

"Just know that I am truly sorry. I'll never hurt you again, I swear it! Never."

" Please forgive me," he whispered.

"S'okay…still love ya…" She slurred drunkenly. With the sheer quantity of alcohol she had ingested, she would wake up to one hell of an unpleasant surprise. He set her down on the cot, the only remotely orderly spot in the room.

/_Sleep…_/

Leia drifted off in a few seconds – hopefully she would sleep off most of the effects.

* * *

Darth Sidious' plan was taking effect, but there was still one major obstacle. Its name was Darth Vader. Vader was a good slave, of course – he fulfilled all his orders and more, but he was thinking dangerous things. If Sidious was not careful, Vader would soon turn on him, and that was definitely not what he wanted. That, and he was not immortal. He could, of course, clone Vader, but that would cost more time than was available. _And why settle for less when you can have more? _That was what it came down to. Power. Vader was immensely powerful, the armor having no impact on it, but Sidious sensed that his brat would very soon surpass him. Young Skywalker was also as naïve as Lord Vader had once been, and Sidious would use it to his advantage.

Vader, on the other hand…He would soon be taken care of, so to speak. His shuttle was riddled with explosives, and Darth Sidious had made considerable efforts to conceal them amidst strands of darkness. Vader would soon be gotten rid of. If only the fool had known that he would so swiftly be disposed of twenty-one years ago, when he had destroyed his own kind.

* * *

What the Dark Lord did not know was that his apprentice had been two steps ahead all along. While he had been planning his betrayal, he had been utterly oblivious to his would-be victim's own plans. As he remained caught in his own musings, the doors burst open, and enraged, black-armored Sith Lord flew at Sidious. He moved with the grace of a fallen angel, cape rippling behind him. The anger and ferocity of Darth Vader's blows could only be matched by that of the Sith himself.

But it was not Vader that fought with such passion. This was not the wrath of a Sith. No, it was that of a father. Ultimately, it was all that mattered. Lord Sidious was slain.

* * *

Luke Skywalker sighed as he exited the room where the rest of his squadron were drinking themselves into oblivion – and having a good time at that. He, on the other hand, had had just about enough of booze that morning. Then again, a healthy (or unhealthy) dose of alcohol might have done him good. Still, he was not in the mood for socializing. _Hell, if they knew who I am, they wouldn't come within a lightyear of me…_He toyed with the idea of spilling the beans, then smirked. _Yeah. And I'm sure they'd keep me around, even though I'm the emperor's slave's son._

Yes, he knew that under the title and the mask, Vader was just a slave. He did not know how he knew this. Maybe it was because no one could ever want such a life. Maybe it was purely intuitive. Whatever it was, a part of him wanted to free him, to break the chain.

Another part wanted to kill him, to slay the monster, to drive his blade through Vader's dark, frozen heart. _What blade? Remember how he defeated you? Remember how you screamed? Remember what he said? __Remember how you jumped down that shaft? Remember how you almost let go of the vane? _It didn't matter. _He's my father. Does that not mean anything? _Did it not? _No. He deserves to die. He wiped out the Jedi. He tortured your friends._ _He has killed millions. _Could he not be redeemed? Was there still good in him? _No. _Wasn't there? _What does it matter? You can't save him. You will never be good enough. You will fail._

"Don't tell me you're disappearing on us again," Said a fairly drunk Wedge, a most idiotic grin plastered to his face.

"Does it look like I'm planning to stay?"

"C'mon, you're no fun!" Still with the stupidly cheerful countenance. Luke started to walk away, but his annoying friend followed.

"Yeah, I absolutely _love_ ingesting poison until I tip over." The grin lessened a little bit, but not nearly enough.

"Never knew sarcasm was your thing…C'mon…" Luke felt his face grow stiff. _Someone getting angry?_

"No. Leave me alone," was his flat reply, but it was getting mighty hard not to lash out. He kept walking, until they hit a poorly lit dead end near some storage room.

"Man, you really need to loosen up." No, that was not what he needed. What he needed was to be alone.

"_Go away!" _His shouted response had no effect on his friend – _friend?_

"Come on, you're never around anymore…Y'know, I think I liked you better _before _you went all dark and broody." This was getting tiring, and his patience grew short.

"What part of _go away _do you not understand! Leave. Me. _Alone._" But Wedge did not go away, and before he knew it, Luke's blaster was out and drawn, his finger on the trigger, Wedge backed against the wall, with genuine fear on his face. There was something in the eyes, the look of an animal trapped by a predator…Struggling to keep his breathing even, he started to lower the blaster. His muscles would not obey him – the blaster stayed drawn, and his finger pressed down on the trigger. _Don't let go…don't let go of it; you'll kill him…_Sweat dripped down his palm. His finger slipped.

* * *

I bet you want to throw me off the cliff right now.Well, as long as you review... 


	7. Part VI

**Disclaimer:** Star Wars is not mine. sigh

I'm back after yet another long wait. Muchas gracias to all who read and/or reviewed. Hope it's worth the wait.

* * *

**Part VI**

The deafening noise of a blaster going off in an enclosed space ripped through the air, the stench of burned flesh – the rotting stench of death – filling his nostrils, bringing forth waves of dizziness and nausea, smoke filling his eyes, stinging more than the wetness in them, of origin unknown. The smoke cleared. Wedge's eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, his face an unreadable mask as he fell. There was no resentment in the eyes – now dirt-coloured – no emotion of any kind, not even shock, but that was only due to the mortal wound that marred his countenance, a burned hole, square between the eyes.

The hiss of his dying breath went unnoticed, for all sound was drowned out by the deafening roar of Luke's own shaking breaths –_ Who am I now? _– spaced closer and closer together. _Inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale…inhale…inhale…inhale… _No matter how much he breathedit still felt like drowning. _But I've been drowning a long time…_Tainted blood rushed through his veins, corrupting all of him, his heart pounding in his head, the rhythmic pulse mesmerizing, hypnotizing…_ Could I stop it from beating? _The world was blurry and spinning and the ground was suddenly eager to meet him.

He struggled to remain stable. And then a shiver ran through him, the heat suddenly leaving the air, the blood leaving his flesh, the rhythm subsiding…The cold set in, announcing the arrival of a new winter…

_I killed him…Couldn't have…I didn't…Did I? _His eyes again wandered to the ground and – _oh please, tell me I'm hallucinating… _No apparition was so…real. _Must leave…they can't know…_he tried to flee, but it was too cold; his body was a sculpture carved from ice, feet frozen to the ground – hard as steel –_ black steel, like father's— _and twice as heavy, the sensation tenfold inside – it was so numb, so empty, so lonely – lonely as an arctic desert, not a shred of life within.

So he averted his eyes. _If you don't look at it, it's not so bad. _But it was there and you could never shut the door on it, ever-present, like the whispers that hissed in his mind. _Did you not love it? Did you not love the power that surged through you?_ All they did was lie? Why did he listen? Why did he trust above all else that which continued to poison him?

The unanswered questions lingered as he fled the dreadful place he'd created, but the aura of death – that infernal cloud of inky darkness, leeching the life from all things - clinging to him like filth, muddying the once still, now stormy waters of his mind.

He dashed into his quarters and collapsed on the cot, trying to catch his breath, which had long since been stolen from him. Black spots danced across his vision. He stumbled into the 'fresher, splashing water into his face , then looked up at the cracked, filthy mirror. A young face stared back at him. Pale, gaunt and weary, but youthful, almost innocent – _almost…_that part of him had been lost somewhere along this dreadful journey of three years, perhaps it had withered away with the burned corpses of the only relatives he'd ever known, perhaps ripped from him as he'd searched his feelings and realized the unmistakable truth in the Dark Lord's words, perhaps shattered by the perpetual darkness that haunted him.

As he stared into his – no, his outer shell's – clear blue eyes, he saw how little justice they did to what dwelled inside, he wanted nothing more than to be torn from his body, which had now become a coffin. He wanted to be free of this mask – if only he were hideous, then, at least, he would not be a lie – he would not be a liar.

With a quiet sigh, he leaned his forehead against the mirror, paying no mind to the dirt – _For are you not dirt as well? Are you not by far a filthier creature? _– and stayed there for Force knew how long. As if, by standing there, entranced, he could make it all, and himself disappear. As if it could all be forgotten in the blink of an eye.

He would have stayed forever, but he knew it could not be so. Things never left you alone, even if you did not touch them. You could make yourself forget, but the imprints could never be removed. Much like the scars.

Returning to his cot, he sat there, alone. Deserted by all he had once believed in, by everything and everyone he'd known. Even the Force was now eerily silent. He was forsaken.

Burying his face in his hands, he shut his eyes, as if to dispel the disturbing images. Focusing on the emptiness within, as if to shut out the backdrop of insidious words. _What am I to do? What have I been reduced to?_

_What do I have left now?_

* * *

That morning, Mara had awakened next to an unfamiliar but, for a reason unknown, not unwelcome form – as she'd pulled her sleep-weighted eyelids apart, her gaze had turned to rest at Skywalker's lean, hard body and her arm curled almost possessively around his waist. She'd mumbled something unintelligible even to her own ears and before the haze of sleep had lifted from her mind, Skywalker had left, but not before planting a brief kiss on her face. The gesture was not casual, but nearly so. It seemed…natural, for lack of a better word, but she had secretly melted under it. She wondered if he knew that he had such an effect on her. _If he does, he probably enjoys it. _

It was evening now, and she had not seen him since. Buried doubt arose from within – what if he was not sincere? Had he used her and thrown her away, like the scum she'd rightly thought him to be? What if he'd abandoned her, having realized what a mistake he had made? What if he knew everything? _He wouldn't play dumb with me if he knew. Would he?_

No, it was none of these things. She knew slime when she saw it, and so far her scopes were negative. He was above such things. _But are you? Would you do such a thing to him. You would, wouldn't you? _As far as she knew there was not a dishonorable bone in his body, but she was far less certain when it came to herself. And then came the thought that had come to haunt her.

_Perhaps it would have been better if he had left you. _

It would have been far better for him, though he was blissfully unaware of this. It would have been best for him to distance himself and keep away, avoid her like the plague. Too bad he would never leave – too bad he loved her. Such painful irony, a cruel joke of fate, perhaps one of the Force's spiteful little games.

_If only he knew. He'd be long gone by now. I should never have gotten involved with him. _She did not regret loving him. It was the most wonderful thing she'd ever known. What she did regret was dragging him into her mess. _Why did I do it? I knew it was wrong. I knew it would ruin him. Have I over all these years become but a mindless instrument? _

Then surfaced another stray thought. _What gave you the right? _How dare she plant the seed that would blossom into his destruction – the destruction of a living, breathing, feeling person, not just another task – then tempt her victim into falling in love with his murderer? How _dare _she?

And why had she not been honest? Why had she not let the truth come out? All was lost now, whether he knew it or not. Why would she not let the covers fall away, let the deceptions fade and everything be as is? The answer was there.

_Because he will leave me if I do. _That, she could not afford. He was the only one who could ever love one as vile and filthy as herself. In the end, it was all one needed – to be loved. The Emperor had given her all she had: a purpose. But he could never give her love.

_Do you deserve it? _If she only dealt in truths, she already knew. No. She was a traitor and a whore, and he was the only one who could love her for it, no matter how dirty she was. She did not deserve it, but she needed it. As all living things did.

She would tell him, even if all hell broke loose. It pained her to be dishonest when he would willingly pour out his soul to her. Maybe he could find it in his heart to forgive her. _Don't hold your breath. It's over. _Mara stepped out into the hallway with a newfound resolve.

Once at his door, she considered turning back. Telling him would change nothing. Either way, he would watch helplessly as his whole life unraveled, thread by thread. Wouldn't it make it worse if he knew that she was the one at fault? Or would it be worse if he would until his end ask himself the ever-present one-word question _why? _Perhaps the latter. Still, she had to – _selfishly –_ get it off her chest.Before she could decide against it, she knocked on the door.

"Come in." Blank words, softly spoken. The door slid open, albeit clumsily, for the mechanism had not been oiled in ages and was in about as good shape as the rest of the ship. The officers' quarters were not much better than hers, though he had the luxury of having no snoring roommates. The room was, as usual, cold, bleak and dirt-encrusted. Why did it feel even more so now?

Skywalker was seated on his cot, shadows on his face, eyes closed tight as if to shield them from the world. They snapped open and his gaze fixed on her. Ever silent, he rose. Unpredictable, dangerous, yet so delicate, so fragile.

"Skywalker. I…We need to talk." No response. He walked over to the other side of the room, where his things lay scattered – was he packing? A planetside mission?

"Where are you going?" Silence. Then he turned to stare at her. He looked weary and spent.

"Nowhere. I'm going nowhere," Was the reply, sad but without passion. Not burning agony, but faded grey pain. Mara crossed her arms, ridding herself of empathy.

"Where?" Harsher, now. Again, he stared deeper into her soul. The soul she'd hardened long ago.

"I'm leaving," Was the terse reply. His features were a mask of serenity. A rapidly faltering disguise.

"Why? You can't leave? These people need you! You are the best pilot this kriffin' rebellion has! You'd dedicate three years of your life to it then just leave, like it doesn't matter?" _What a hypocrite you are. After all, you are the one who changes sides at the turn of the tide._

"Don't You understand? I have no choice!" Anger? Outrage?

"So, you are going throw your life away, aren't you?" Asked Mara with uncalled for indignation. It sounded so naïve, even to her.

"What life?" Words punctuated by a cross between a laugh and a sob. "This is not a life. Hell, it makes death sound appealing." A hitch in his breath, almost undetectable. He threw the last of his few possessions into the bag and leaned against the wall, again looking down.

"I should have left long ago. I'm a danger to all of them. You included, Jade." Something inside her trembled.

"Mara," She said, hoarsely. "It's Mara." Why did her throat tighten so?

"I don't want to leave. I love you, Mara Jade…I wish I could stay. I can't. I don't know what's wrong with me." His voice cracked.

"Tell me, " he whispered, suddenly at her side, " Why is it so empty…so cold?" Wide blue eyes shining with tears he would not shed. They belonged on someone else, someone younger, more innocent. So lost.

And she could provide no answer.

"Why do I feel so dead inside?" Sobbing, now.

"I don't know…I don't know," She whispered. And she held him tight, like the truth she could never tell him.

* * *

Directs you to 'submit review' button


	8. Part VII

**Disclaimer: **See first post.

* * *

**Part VII**

He left in the early hours of the following morning. Perhaps he should have said goodbye, but all it would have done was cause sorrow. For all of them. They were better off thinking he had deserted, or even died rather than knowing he was in hell. _Though the fires have cooled, _he thought, a wistful smile playing over his face, as quick to vanish as it had appeared.

Today was different. Today it was numb. Numbness was bliss. It killed the pain. Today he felt nothing – he was empty…so very empty. Everything was. Today was grey – the world was a pale ghost of yesterday, landscapes faded, though there were none in the void of space…crimson skies washed out… _But the blood never is…_

Images floated up from the depths of his mind. Fragments of memories from better times - it had never been easy, but they had all had each other to lean on. Now it felt like their lives had been scattered, torn apart. As if they'd somehow drifted apart in their collective spiral down. There was a newfound distance…No, that distance had been there for weeks.

There he was, betraying all there was left. What would they think, once they knew he was gone? _They will forget me. After a while, they will no longer notice that something's missing. _But that was not how things worked. You always did feel a hole inside you. Nothing could ever make it better.No, they would cling to a feeble hope that he would return. _But you can't. You can never go back. _

This was it. This was goodbye. _Don't dwell on it. You have the rest of your life for that. They don't want you anyway. After all, you've destroyed their lives. And all they've fought and suffered for. Just like they said you would. _Would things have been different if he'd taken another path?

As he stepped into the hangar bay, he could not help but feel dishonorable. Like the filthy scum he'd sworn never to become. Try as he may, he could not banish these thoughts from his mind. He'd be long gone once they'd notice something wrong.

_The fire has cooled. Leaving in its wake the ashes._

* * *

Nar Shaddaa. The smugglers' moon. The last place Luke had thought he'd end up. Yet there he was, sitting on a lumpy white mattress in a dingy, dirty little room. It was nighttime – Nar Shaddaa's nights were over three standard nights long; there was no way anyone could sleep through one. Not that the lawless little moon slept. Outside, the sky was a hazy, polluted violet – it was never black. The view was half-obscured by countless spires dotted with little pinpoints of light. He idly wondered how many of these crappy little flats there were. How many lost causes sat in them, thinking these things…

He turned to stare at the floor, something that seemed to hold his attention more than anything else. With a small sigh, he lit a cigarra, inhaling the foul smoke, feeling the dry fumes choke him…feeling the poison seep into him...

He hated to think of what it was doing to his body – but it could not be any worse than his own mental state, or what was left of his soul, or his steadily deteriorating life. It felt like he was on the brink of some unknown fate. Perhaps on the edge of insanity, of the Dark Side his family seemed to be prone to falling to…or of apathy.

Yes, that seemed to be it. Apathy. He could not bring himself to care…about anything. Even what he'd been the most passionate about; even what ideals he had left – it had all faded – the image was there, but a mere memory. Untouchable. What he had felt before was now detached from the thoughts.

There was a void where there should have been a soul. Yet some distant part of him cried out. Mourned for something he had but little fragments of. Felt sorrow for the blank, miserable shell he had become. He was but a shadow of what he had once been, and somehow, in spite of the absolute death of the soul he felt (did not feel?), he managed to be disgusted by it. What a pitiful creature he was. Only now did he wish to be hated.

It was better to be hated than to be deserted. It was better to even be looked down on than to be forgotten. It was better to be in agony than to feel nothing at all…It was better to be haunted than to be alone.

_But you are not alone. I'm with you…_

…_If you're lonely enough, do you fall to madness?_

_But you are mad enough…_

… _Killed him…_

_…didn't…wasn't…_

_…Blew his brains out…_

_Eyes roll back, face death-white…falls to the floor…Skin grows cold…your heart grows cold…_

…_You fade…_

_I am all you've got._

Sanity returned, black spots dancing across his vision, silence roaring…Yet each time it happened, it felt like another piece of him had fallen away…Yet another part of him, fading into the background – still there, but forever out of reach. Would the rest of him gradually fade away like this? Would he silently be erased? Would he slowly be tainted, replaced by this thing, until rendered unrecognizable? Would he be left to wander the confines of his own mind? Would he forever be trapped in the cold desert night of his lifeless soul?

He was left to ponder these thoughts, for no one would answer. It was starting to rain…little drops, tapping against his window, whispering secrets as the wind screamed in torment…_Can't scream…_

…_Suffer in silence…_

…_But I'm with you…_

…_She isn't…Left her…_

…_Broke her heart…_

…_Love you, Mara…Hate you…_

He did not love anything anymore. Love was hot…love was passion. Even that could not melt the ice that encased him. If only there was fire again...Nothing could make it burn again.

_I can…I can ignite the flames again…_

…_they can burn you…_

…_consume you…destroy you…until you're nothing but ashes…_

…_Don't want to die…_

And then it was gone, leaving only the dank grey room with filthy walls…Shadows lurking in the corners, darkness creeping over him, unyielding, unmerciful, ready to swallow him. What did it feel like to be nothing? Would it hurt to be absorbed by it, to be ground into tiny shards? Shards that could cut you, could bite into your skin, sink into your flesh…shards that could make you bleed.

No one would bleed…

He felt himself fall back onto the mattress, exhausted from…from what? He had not seen the night flow into a pale, dreary dawn…Pale as fright…

He stood up and grabbed his cloak, draping it over his body, hiding inside the loose black folds…Where had he gotten this?

_Your memory fails you…Look how weak you have become…_

…_Why did you leave that which you love?_

…_Had to…_

…_But you can never go home…_

…_I am your home…_

…_I have no home…_

…_As you are mine…_

He was in the corner, under the shadows. He drew his cloak tighter around him. Even then, it did not protect him from the chill within.

_I'll protect you…_

There it was speaking again…Would it ever cease? Or would the whispers turn to screams? Would it take him over?

_Can I defeat you?_

_Never…_

_Why?_

_I can save you…_

…_I am you._

And suddenly, he wished it could save him. But nothing could save him from himself. What was to come? All he knew was that the end was near. This would not last forever. He did not want to know what was in store. He felt his heart blacken with that sickening dread.

_Someone please save me...Anyone but me…_

No one was there. Except…

_He was never there…_

…_led you to death's door…_

He blinks, refocusing his eyes. How had he woken up here, in this dark place? It has left him alone…It's gone. Now he feels emptier. Now he has nothing left.

_/Father/_

Just like that, no warning.

_/Are you there/_

_No, not there, never there…_

_/Help me…Father, I think I'm dying…./_

No reply…

_Do I truly have no one, then?_

Staring into the grey dawn, watching the polluted grey raindrops fall and shatter, trickle down like tears…

Feeling his own icy breath against his skin…Wind howling in suffering…Silence pounding in his head…Frost on his face…

Breathless, he speaks to no one.

"I'm scared."

* * *

A short post is better than no post, right?


	9. Part VIII

**Part VIII**

Yavin IV. Darth Vader's destination. ETA: 7 standard minutes. Next to no one knew that he had even left Coruscant. As for those who had…Who could keep a Sith Lord, an emperor at that, anywhere against their will? Emperor Vader, that was his new title. Though it had been a goal for half his life, it was surprisingly unfulfilling. It was a mountain he'd climbed – once at the summit, the only way to go was down.

It was only after he'd claimed the throne that he realized that all he had fought for, all he had created, all he had destroyed – his entire life – was worth nothing at all. How self-absorbed he had been, never looking beyond his own petty life. _Obi-Wan, you were right after all…I was dangerous…_For there was nothing more dangerous than power in the hands of a fool. In his blindness, he had built a prison for his soul. For many years, he had glorified it, sanctified it, made it the center of his being. Only when he had exhausted it had he realized how empty it had been all along…He was left to live in infinite loneliness. Darth Vader was the name of the lie.

He was on his way to some uninhabited jungle moon – He had sensed the Dark Side there – only now did he see why they had called it that. So seductive, glittering with false promises…Yet he served it anyway. He served the darkness as payment for his short-lived glory. And in the end, all he had was his own cold hatred, faded memories of a life forsaken, an empire he did not want and a son who wanted nothing more than to bring him death. _And he has reason to_, he mused, grimacing under the mask.

What he would do when he got there, he did not know. All he knew was that it was worthy of investigation. Because the darkness flowed from it. Not in streams, as it often did, but surrounding everything. If he had not felt its core on Yavin's fourth moon, he would have sworn it came from within…no, not within; somehow different, even from that. It was too detached to come from inside. It was distant yet tangible.

As he strode down the ramp, he felt the stream (it was a stream now?) fluctuate, now a wave, now a mere trickle, oh so faint, so fragile it could vanish…But wait, it was changing again, in an altogether different way. No longer was it inanimate. The cold, neutral darkness was there, but further away (yet so much closer, caressing his face) was something else, separating from whatever it was, on the jungle moon.

It moved, trembled under his touch (could it snap?), as if it were a living thing. It could not be inanimate – it was not unfeeling...It was streaked with emotion, like a sentient being. Could it be..?

The thought was torn by a silent, desperate cry. Lonely as the howl of an animal in the night. Not really a sound, of course. Something you only heard if you listened real hard. If you sifted through the smoky layers of your soul, you could feel just a trace, obscured by an infinite distance. It was the sound of despair.

_Father? _

Just a whisper…So faint, it could have been the wind, but no wind could have made him shiver. No, it was just his mind trying to fool him, trying to bring him what he wanted. _Give up, it's no use…_

_Are you there? _

Like someone speaking underwater. A ghost of a presence brushing against him. Grey, weary, tainted…_Yes, I'm there. Speak to me. Speak to me, please…_

_Help me…Father, I think I'm dying…. _

So haunted, so plaintive…What was this tightening in his chest, this fire in his eyes? Suddenly, it mattered no longer. Suddenly, he could throw it all away if it would save him…_But can it? Or am I far too late?_

/_Can you hear me/_

It fell on deaf ears. He tried to reach out, but his words were swallowed by the distance. Or was it the wall, the invisible barrier? The fine, fragile thread of a bond was ragged and fuzzy…It was like trying to reach someone with a broken comlink…He tried to speak, but the words were silenced. _Forget it. Forget everything._

The shady world of Nar Shaddaa was teeming with shifty, filthy minds. He – _Who are you now?_ – tried to shut out their dirty little thoughts. _No dirtier than you. _He had come out of his dingy little room to get some foul, sooty air into his lungs. Maybe a walk would make him saner. Maybe, by some twist of fate, he would die. _Death won't save you. I will always be with you. I will never leave you…I'm the only one who can love you…_

He dragged his feet as he walked down the filthy walkways. He moved slower now. Not for lack of physical strength. He no longer felt the need to do need anything. It took all his willpower to move. To breathe. To live. _To suffer. To live is to suffer._

His mind drifted off, floating above him, until his eyes fixed themselves on the form of a small, very young woman – what, sixteen, eighteen? – with green hair and shabby clothes. _What is she doing so close? Is she a— _Belatedly, he realized he had bumped into her. She threw a glare at him and went on way. He stared after her.

"Lady, wait!" He did not know why he had said it. Perhaps it was because he had not been in contact with a sentient being in so long…

She turned around, with a questioning glance. He approached her. _What now? _Stupidly, he opened his mouth but said nothing.

"What?" Her speech was heavily accented, but not unpleasant. He said nothing.

"Look, your wasting my time, I—"

Pale grey eyes widened at the sight of the blade in his hand. Nothing could stop him from plunging it into her throat. Glistening blood spilt all over the pavement, like the blood on his hands. Her eyes were still open as she struggled to draw a breath. Wounded eyes. _Why? Why did you do this to me?_

A dull ache spread across his heart. But he was too cold to truly feel it. He walked on.

No more than fifty metres, and he was faced with an identical pair of pale, colourless eyes. _Have you come to haunt me already?_

No, it wasn't her. He let out a breath, relieved. They belonged to a little girl – a scrawny, scruffy child with black hair and a pale, heart-shaped face. No tears. She had seen too much.

"You killed my mommy." Accusing, rightly so, large round eyes staring up at him, boring through him, shattering him…

"Yes."

"I hate you."

Why did it sound so wrong, coming from one so young? Why did it feel so wrong to choke the life out of her? It was not right, he knew, but it was as if someone was hijacking his body – even his mind at times. And it was the only thing that made him feel something, the only thing that let him know he was still alive. _Some excuse._

She lay there, lifeless. So innocent in sleep.

Hours passed and a golden if hazy dawn crept over polluted skies before he was exhausted enough to drag himself back to his apartment. Stripping down to his undergarments, he let himself fall onto the ripped, faded mattress. He felt nothing when it failed to completely weaken the impact.

Her eyes floated across his vision, sparkling with unshed tears…full of hate, hate that clawed at him like some wild thing, some dreadful monster…_Your own kind scare you still?_

The pictures flickered and melted into others, each one more jagged, drawing blood. Grey eyes, screaming betrayal…green eyes, twinkling with a love of which he was unworthy…fiery hair, flaring as her temper flared…red blood…dark as his heart…seeping over her pale skin and her tattered clothes…her small, slender form sprawled on the pavement…skin so cold, as if in death…

_Stop it…please…_

…_all your fault…_

…_all my fault…_

…_Murderer…_

…_Are you so cold?_

…_scared…_

…_am I too lost?_

He knew the answer. Yet he had clung to a hair-thin thread of hope. He had told himself that it would go away, that it had to end, that something could save him, that he could still go back. He, who had hated lies, who had sworn to never lie again – _the hypocrisy – _had succumbed to self-deception.

There he was again, trapped on the edge of a gantry. At one end, darkness…at the other…There he was again, faced with an impossible, agonizing decision…

He picked up the blade again. _Wherever you go, goes the knife…_

He brought the blade down—

—And stopped as it ripped through his skin. He dragged is across his flesh – Just a reminder, should he wake and find he is not himself…_Lest I forget._

He let himself fall. _Nothing left…empty…_

_Pray that I never wake…_

Many minutes passed before he surrendered to blissful darkness.


	10. Part IX

**Part IX**

13 standard days later

Mara stared into the Dark Lord's face. Not in person - a hologram of a death mask, more like, but she had never thought of it that way. Vader had never haunted her nightmares. She had never been stalked at night by flashing images of a frigid metal skull…He was not a symbol of fright. He was just…there. He always had been there; she did not remember a time when he hadn't. He had once been the only person who saw past her facade; one person she could talk to. With time, they had grown apart. He was now a mere acquaintance. His face was a familiar one, as was the Emperor's shriveled, rotten carcass of a visage.

Now it seemed alien. Twisted, unnatural, almost a perversion. And cold, so cold…distant, like a void, yet still there, like an impenetrable wall of stone. His eyes weren't black. They were a deep, bleeding red, like dying embers, like a festering scar. You could see through them…but not enough to see a face.

How had she missed this detail? Belatedly, she realized that she'd never spared him more than a fleeting glance. He had always revolted her. There was something about him…He was a machine of death. Steely. Unrelenting. Merciless. Feeling even less than her. As soulless as the late Emperor himself, sucking the life and warmth from everything, yet having none. A ghost of a doubt flickered inside.

"What do you want?" Weary. Poignant, almost. Lacking the formality, the menace, the aggression. A sigh? No. Just a trick of her ears. Just the static. The depth was ever-present. It never left him. Never would.

"Nothing. I do have something _you_ might want." Said with a rare smile devoid of irony and contempt.

"I want nothing but for you to leave me in peace." Peace. What an empty word it was. He knew not peace. Nor did she.

"You remember Skywalker?" _It would be pretty hard not to remember someone you were obsessively chasing around the galaxy for months on end._

"Yes." All that wistful irony infused into a single word.

She let out a breath. Should she tell him? _No, stupid. _Of course not. This was the Emperor – _formerly known as Palpatine's lapdog_. Why did it feel like he could be trusted? Irrational as it seemed, it was almost as if he was on her treasonous side…Almost. He was more like a reluctant ally. _Jade, you are ridiculous. For kriff's sake, don't say it._

"You want him alive, don't you? I know where he is, he's—"

"What leads you to assume that I want him at all, dead or alive?"

"What if I told you he was half-crazy and using your side of the Force?" No reaction. Yes, she had been blunt, but Lord Vader was not easily stunned. Silence stretched from second to second to second.

"You'd be pretty crazy yourself to let a Jedi run around loose, wreaking havoc."

"I appear to have lost a significant part of my sanity." His voice was carved out of stone.

"He's on Naboo. I've been tracking him ever since he left the rebellion. I don't know what he would want to do there…Nar Shaddaa, I would understand, but Naboo…" Mara could have sworn she saw a spark of interest in the black-red lenses.

"I'm afraid your efforts were wasted. Skywalker is no longer your concern."

Mara sighed. _Time to spill the beans…_

"Look, I know you don't care whether he lives or dies, but I need you to do something for me. He's dying, you know. I watched him lose himself, piece by piece. I can't bring him back. I know nothing of your Force." Ringing silence and mechanized breathing answered.

"If…" Suddenly she grasped the absurdity of what she was saying. _Idiot. Now you've done it._

"If anyone can bring him back, it's you. I know it's a lot to ask of you, but pleasedo it for me. _Please_."

"I have other duties to attend to. You know this." She was greatly tempted to turn off the comm.

"I'm sorry." He was. She could see that.

"So am I."

* * *

"You wanted to speak with me?" The princess of Alderaan wore a politician's smile.

"Yes, Your Highness." She motioned Mara to take a seat.

"None of that – my world has been dead for almost four years now. Call me Leia." Her ease at disposing of formalities was disconcerting. Perhaps she wasn't one hundred percent politician – there seemed to be a human being in there.

"Very well. This hasn't anything to do with the Alliance."

"Oh?" The princess – Organa – Leia – arched an eyebrow.

"It's about your friend Skywalker. Our friend. We both know he's listed as AWOL; some say he went off and killed himself. Well, I can assure you that he is alive at the moment, and half a galaxy away – on Naboo, if my tracking devices are accurate."

Wide mahogany eyes glistened with emotion. The colour drained from her cheeks; her lips slightly parted.

"Why?" Mara forced a tight, painful smile. Life couldn't always be so easily reduced to cause and effect.

"I don't know for sure why he chose to desert. I suppose it's because he knew he was dangerous. He chose to remove himself from everyone, to exile himself to somewhere where he could hurt no one – no one but himself," She took a deep breath. "I worry about him. He'll go mad if left to himself…Which is why I'd like to ask you to grant me leave." Organa blinked, then acquiesced.

"Of course. It might take a couple of days to clear you, but I'll do what I can."

"Thank you...Thank you very much." Mara got up to leave, but her feet were tightly bonded to Organa's office floor.

"I…have a confession to make. I hope you don't label me a traitor, and that this will not leave your office." A nod from Organa.

"Until about the time of Palpatine's death, I worked for him. I was an operative, one of the best. In other words, I did the dirty work Lord Vader was too obvious to do. I was sent here to assassinate someone by means of poison, or so I thought. What I soon found out was that the toxin in fact rendered the victim highly unstable." It was almost disturbing how her words seemed to always quiet everything.

"Do you know who I am talking about?" Another nod; no words. Mara swallowed the lump in her throat. The walls were closing in, seeking to suffocate the life out of her; her vision was blurring and fuzzing over like a broken comm unit. The monotonous music of the light fixtures permeated everything.

"I never told him," Again, the tight grimace accompanying the tight throat. "I never told him how sorry I was. He lost so much sleep wondering what was happening to him. It was killing him….And I said nothing." A deep, shuddering breath.

"I should come with you,"

"The Alliance needs you. And you need to find your pirate." A pitiful attempt at humour, but it brought a smile to both faces.

* * *

Some thirty-five hours later, Mara Jade, Rogue Four, left the base due to _urgent personal matters that required her immediate attention_. And they did – it was a race against time. Little did any of them know, the question was not whether she would arrive in time. It was who would get there first. 


	11. Part X

**Part X**

Fear is a stranger to Darth Vader. He knows it only as the bright, cold, fractured light in the eyes of his victims. It is a flickering white substance that does not flow through his black, bloodless veins. It does not seep into his spindly metal flesh. Fear is a living thing and there is no room for it in the grave that is his mind.

Naboo is not as he had known it. The skies are not clear and radiant. The sun sleeps between clouds of toxic grey. The air is not fresh and fragrant but stale and smoky. The fields, once vibrant with life, are now haunted by the lonely wind. The waters trickle not with merriment but flow like tears. The birds do not rejoice in song. Silence resounds. Naboo does not glow of love. There is only the rushing, pounding echo of war, the air charged with chaotic energy. A pang clutches at a broken man's mangled heart.

In the distance, among wild, flowing grasses is a dark, thin figure with spidery limbs, approaching with a deadly, aggressive stance, never pausing, never sparing anything a second thought. Together and apart they shrink the distance and stare each other in the eye.

His eyes are bleached a striking white and so empty, pits of nothing, sucking at the soul like starved creatures of the night, piercing as chips of metal so hot they are cold. His face is harsh and angular, drawn in hard, sharp lines, ruthless and unfeeling…For a split second, Vader sees himself in the twin soulless orbs. The image is dispelled as the other man speaks.

"Emperor Vader – have you come to destroy your wayward offspring?" He is unreadable. Is that scorn in his tone, or is there something plaintive, something vulnerable under the derision?

"I did not come here with ill intentions, my son…but I hope you will not make me do something I will later regret." Cold words, he knows, harboring no feelings towards him, so befitting of a Lord of the Sith.

"I'm afraid you've arrived too late." His speech is lighter than air.

"How so?"

"The person you are looking for no longer exists." So calm that he is untouchable. It drives the Sith Lord mad.

"Do you seek to cut yourself off from your identity?"

His son – but is he, really? – smiles bitterly, sending hairline cracks streaking down Vader's very core.

"I'm not so naïve. But I'm not lying when I say this person does not exist. I'm not who I was."

And he isn't, even the blind can see. It sends chills down the Sith Lord's spine.

"Jade worries about you. She says you are dying." And he can feel him die at this very moment.

The other man shrugs faintly, nonchalant.

"Life and death are quite relative. The line is easily broken." He turns pale, lifeless eyes to somber sky above, as if in thought. The sight is painful.

"She fears you may do something foolish." A bitter, ironic sound, between laughter and misery.

"Foolish doesn't cover it. Homicidal, perhaps, does…I'm going to kill you, father." Said so dispassionately, it doesn't sound like it came from a sentient being.

"I do not doubt that you will attempt it. May I ask why?"

"It's either that or death."

He arms himself, drawing a lightsaber. Poorly constructed – patched together in the space of mere days by someone with little knowledge concerning these weapons. He ignites it. Red. A shaft of blood against the desolate landscape. The Sith follows.

Their weapons clash, red against red, blood against blood. Time is irrelevant. Vader's opponent is stronger than he remembers – swift and agile, yet his blows are jagged and feral, striking like claws, sweeping like flames, stabbing like agony. But not enough to defeat the Dark One.

The fields leave them and hills take their place. The grasses are snarled and thorny, biting at their ankles, whipping in the wind. The blows grow wilder, more desperate, angrier. His opponent's face is twisted in the darkest of scowls, icy eyes aflame.

The scenery is shifting again. The terrain becomes rockier until the grass yields to lichens and moss as Vader's opponent yields to the Sith Lord. The outcome of the battle seems to be written already, until he resumes his offensive with newfound aggression. What little finesse there was is gone. He fights like a beast. His blows are swift and direct. His stabs are like vipers.

The rocks grow sharper, more pointed. They will not last forever. The fight shifts to a much more acrobatic style, and yes, fiercer. They move like whirlwinds. Inevitably, they draw nearer to the abrupt end. Vader's opponent sweeps a low, unexpected blow, aiming to sever his legs at the knee.

Vader's blade moves to meet its counterpart, but there is nothing there. The other blade sputters, flickers and dies.

The opponent, light on his feet, shrinks back, but not before he can feel the 'saber's bite on his torso. A high, strangled cry is ripped from his throat. And Force, it hurts.

The eyes widen, and suddenly they are not so white. He reels and stumbles backward. But there is no backward. There is only open space.

Strong in the Force as he is, he is not invincible. He can be defeated. He can bleed. He can scream. And he cannot walk on air. He falls.

Vader looks over the edge. One last glance. But his opponent has not fallen all the way. He still clings to the ledge. He still clings to that tiny fragment left of him, clings to it with all the desperation of a dying man.

Slowly, his grip is failing. His fingers are slipping. It will not be long, now. The Dark One stretches out a black-gloved hand. A silent offer. A silent plea.

And white eyes, sad, distant white eyes, just stare, unblinking. He almost hears a whisper obscured by the wind's mournful cry. He almost feels a ghostly touch brush against his mind. It is gone in a heartbeat.

He watches him fall away, fall to his death, white eyes still watching.

oOo

Darth Vader knows no fear. Darkness scares him not, for he dwells in it. Pain scares him not, for his senses have long since been dulled. Death scares him not, for she is his sole, most intimate friend. Nothing can frighten him. Except the waters below - for inside them, he sees himself.


	12. Part XI & Epilogue

**Part XI**

Upon her arrival, Mara knew it was too late. She has known it for a long time. She had deluded herself, lied to herself, made herself believe it wasn't so, that he was not beyond salvation. But he had gone too far down. It is time for her to face the inevitable, to face that which has already been happened, that which is already written. It cannot be changed.

She has come for closure, to put her doubts and feeble hopes to rest. She has come to a funeral for one who had been dying for too long. A funeral for their doomed love.

She can't feel him. She is hollow. Chill winds howl in her forsaken heart, and she wishes she could feel their frosty bite. She only feels the abyss inside her.

She walks alone on a deserted beach. White sand, slowly giving way to dark, spindly rocks, is grey under the somber sky. The water is alive. It is a sleeping dragon sprawled against the shore. She can hear its rushing, roaring breaths. She can hear its heartbeat.

She whispers a prayer. Let the waters engulf her and carry her away like a little speck of dust. Let the dragon devour her whole, and she will feel no pain. But what gods look down upon her are not feeling merciful. The dragon does not listen. It sleeps on the rocks, dead to the world.

She climbs down the dragon's spiny back. Still, the mighty creature will not harm her. She finds her way to the cove, made her lover's tomb. She finds a gaping wound, festering, blood seeping. The dragon's labored breathing does not cease, for it is a mighty beast. No weapon can slay it. But what gruesome weapon can wound it so?

The water is shallow here. Rocks pierce the surface like sinister spires of ebony, silhouetted in the quasi-darkness. The fence around the tomb. She walks in the water and wishes she could feel its fangs in her flesh. The flaring crimson of the water sears her eyes. She can feel them blister. Will it make her blind? Will it shield her from the sight of his empty shell?

The water has not blinded her. She sees him clearly, at her feet. She has never seen such beauty, floating on the water's level, unbroken surface, light as a ghost. She kneels in the dragon's blood, stroking deathly white skin. Cold, so cold under her touch, cold as the dragon's breath on her face…She strokes his still, still face, holds his limp, clammy hand, and whispers to him.

"Why don't you speak to me, love? Why don't you touch me like you did so long ago…Do you not love me anymore?"

He does not utter a single word. All he can do is stare through sad, lifeless eyes…So lonely, so broken, and he can never be heard…

"It's going to be alright, love…I'm here. You will not suffer anymore…"

She kisses silent, glacial lips. They fill her with frigid darkness. The wounded dragon's heart beats still. She will lie with him forever, and he will suffer no more.

oOo

The water is hot. She feels the dragon's fiery breaths, scorching her frozen skin, warming her cold soul… The dragon loves her. He will protect her from harm. The dragon guards her absently, even as she lies imbedded in his inflamed wound, for he has a giant heart. She hears it pounding in her head.

Now she can rest easy, safe in the embrace of his flesh as the rise and fall of his chest lulls her to sleep. If she were to close her eyes…

A phantom's touch jerks her from her near-slumber. It raises the little hairs on her back. She shivers in the water – the red is fading, now, the wound is healing, healing over her, holding her, trapping her, choking her…

Can whatever wraith stands behind her save her from the insidious dragon's claws? Or has it come to take her life?

"Do not be afraid, Child…I am here."

His voice is deep. Deep and sad. She knows that voice. She doesn't know that voice. It puts her heart to rest. She will not look at it – will its gaze turn her to stone? Is it death that's visiting her?

"Have you come to kill me?" She breathes the question into the water, now a clear grey, but still tainted with pain and blood.

"Never." She feels the pensive gloom wafting from him. How can a wraith be sad?

Weakly, wearily, she rises to her feet and turns to face him. He is a dark, armour-clad form. Is he..? She knows him…She knows that she knows him…

The world is shaking, shifting. The dragon is moving, it's rising from its sleep – will it see her? Will it trap her in its claws again? Will it throw her off its back and leave her to die?

The world is moving too fast – she falls, and the water strikes her face. She falls again. She can never…

And then she is no longer wallowing in the tainted liquid. The wraith is strong. He scoops her up in his arms. He's warm. Not ardent and feverish, like the dragon, but gentle. The wind tries to sink its teeth into her, just as she desired, but it can't reach her. It screeches as it realizes its failure. It can't bite the wraith.

She presses her face against him and watches the violent, angry sea – just the sea, no dragon, no claws, no fierce, pounding heart…

He's warm, but he quietly bleeds inside. It doesn't matter. It's her pain he feels. It's his pain she feels.

**

* * *

**

**Epilogue**

-six years later-

"It's about Daddy, isn't it?"

_What do you know of your father, child? What do you know of his infinite beauty? What do you know of his slow, quiet death? What do you know of the dying light in his eyes? What do you know of his cold flesh against your own?_

She wanted to strangle her, to choke the life out of that wretched child, that thrice-damned reminder of a life lost…She wanted to stab her, to slit her throat…Anything to make her disappear.

Her eyes squeezed shut, so tightly…If she forgot, if she remembered, she could feel his frigid, bloodless kiss. If she listened hard enough, she could still hear his drifting voice…

_Why do I feel so dead inside?_

Her pale, bony fist pierced the window, breaking skin, shattering glass, freeing blood, letting in the rain. The grim, unfeeling wind laid a hand on her gaunt, weary face, tossing her limp faded hair.

_I know that. I couldn't let you die._

_Couldn't let you die…Let you die…Die…DIE!_

Collapsing among the shards, breaking again, dissolving into ragged, despairing sobs. Frightened blue eyes fixed upon her, questioning.

"Mara?"

Aileen had never called her by name. And before she knew it, she held the little girl in her arms. She could feel her hot breath on her cheek, her eyes weeping fear.

"I don't like it when you're dark."

"It's okay, sweetie…"

And she can feel the darkness retreat from her mother's aura, leaving just a grey frailty. She whispers a tentative question.

"Where is he now?"

"He's nowhere…You have no father."

Finis


End file.
